Phantom of the streets

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
It's the short story of a "lost soul", unable to interact with this world

Submitted: November 01, 2011

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Submitted: November 01, 2011

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I do not know who I really am. Neither do I know what I am really supposed to be doing in this place. All I know, is that I do not belong in this world. I'm merely a phantom, flowing through the streets as time passes by. No one can see me. No one can hear me. Even objects slips through my very fingers as I try to touch them. There is no real proof or meaning to my existence at all. In fact, who knows if I even does exist? After all, can something that is neither seen nor heard ever really be defined as existing?

 

As I flow through the streets of this world, I see people rushing through their own little lives. Some they all seem like they have to be somewhere. Like they always have to do something. Like they all have their own purpose in making this world go around. What I wouldn't give to have just that. Just to have that tiny piece of purpose. Just to know that someone, somewhere, is dependent on me. It way not sound like much... I suppose it isn't really a lot either. Still, just having a little would mean almost an infinite amount for a person who has nothing. And yet, deep down in my heart, I know that the very dream I cherish most of all, is a dream I can never actually hope to achieve. After all, how am I supposed to do to achieve it?

 

Are there really anyone else like me out there, I wonder. I suppose no one can really know that. Perhaps this world is actually just filled with invisible phantoms. Filled with dreams that one can never truly hope to reach. After all, how would anyone even know about something they can't even see? To be honest, I've actually found myself despising the humans I see in the streets. Constantly complaining on how they haven't gotten enough, while not even realizing what they have. Their always saying someone should help them get this and that. Saying that the people “in charge” don't even care about them, yet they themselves have not once spoken for those who can not be seen. Then again, how can the ones with no voice ever ask someone to speak for them?

 

Knowing deep down how this world is, I doubt I will ever manage to interact with it. Yet, somewhere in my being, I try to hold on to that small glimmer of hope that tomorrow something may change. That tomorrow, someone might actually notice. That tomorrow, something will come and break this vicious circle. Then one day, a faint noise broke through the sadness. There was a person in front of me, merely saying “hello!”


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